David Rosenfelt - First degree

If this were a movie, it would be called The Perfect Day.

My first step is to call in a bet on the Knicks, minus three against Toronto. The bookmaker, Danny Rollins, wishes me luck both on the game and especially in my meeting tomorrow with the assistant DA, who has the nerve to be accusing Danny of bookmaking. Obviously a trumped-up charge against a law-abiding citizen.

Tara gets up on the couch and assumes her favorite position, lying on her side with her head resting just above my knee. It virtually forces me to pet her every time I reach for my beer, which works for me as well as her. If there's a better dog on this planet, if there's a better living creature on this planet, then this is a great planet, and that must be one amazing living creature.

The Knicks are up by four with a minute to play when I once again feel the reverse sting of great wealth. I bet two hundred on the game, and I realize the money has absolutely no significance to me. Betting is only fun when you're worried about losing. Absent the possibility of the agony of defeat, there can't be a thrill of victory. I'd better get another beer.

It's ten o'clock when the phone wakes me up during the UNLV game. I'm up three hundred bucks; I wish I could get excited about it.

"Hello?"

"Sorry to wake you, but you shouldn't be sleeping on the couch anyway," Laurie says. How does she know these things? Of course, she is a professional investigator; I have to remember to check the house for hidden cameras.

I stand up immediately. "I'm not on the couch."

"Yeah, right," she says in a voice that implies "You're full of shit, but who cares?" "Anyway, I just heard from Pete."

"And?"

"The preliminary report came in. The DNA matches. The body is definitely Dorsey."

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"I'm fine. I'm glad it's over;" she says. "Go back to sleep."

I stifle a yawn. "I'm not really tired. I think I'll check and see if there's a basketball game on."

"You mean like the UNLV game I hear in the background?"

"Well, what do you know?"

"Good night, Andy. I love you."

"Good night, Laurie." We've been using the l -word for a couple of months now, but we both agree that it loses some meaning when it always draws an automatic "I love you too" in response. So we're allowing ourselves to make the decision on an individual basis, as it comes up. We're doing groundbreaking things in this relationship.

I watch the game for another three or four seconds before failing back to sleep. Somewhere around three o'clock in the morning, I get up and head for the bedroom, not waking again until seven-thirty. I take Tara for a walk, then get dressed and head for John Holbrook's office.

Holbrook has been with the DA's office for about six years, which means he's probably getting ready to head for the money on the defense side of the table. He's conscientious, hardworking, and relatively fair, a good if unexceptional attorney. Even on cases like this one, which he and I both know is of no great consequence to society, he'll be thoroughly prepared.

Danny Rolling's only role in my life is that of bookmaker, but in the numerous phone calls we have shared, I've gotten to know a little about him. He's got a wife who works as a physical therapist and two kids in high school. He skis, votes straight Republican, tries every diet fad that comes along, and can be counted on to pay off on a bet as surely as he can be counted on to collect.

What Danny does for a living is considered illegal only because of the bizarre nature of our criminal code. It's legal to gamble on a horse race at the track or an off-track betting parlor, but not with a bookmaker. You can waste the family food budget on lottery tickets, but not on the Knicks. Fortunes can be made or lost buying Yahoo! or IBM, but take the Giants and lay the points and you can find yourself in court.

I know that Danny has some connections to northern New Jersey's version of organized crime, because that is how he gets assigned the territory that he can cover. Having said that, I find him to be decent and honorable, and certainly worth getting off this ridiculous legal hook.

Holbrook is finishing a meeting in the conference room when I arrive, and his secretary has me wait in his office. He comes in a couple of minutes later and seems surprised to see me.

"Andy, what are you doing here?"

"We have a meeting on me Danny Rollins matter."

He nods. "I know, but I didn't expect you to come personally. I mean, a rich guy like you?" He looks at his watch. "And with the stock market open? I would have thought you'd send one of your people."

If you're keeping a list at home, you can write down "envious taunting" as, another of the downsides of sudden wealth. "My people were busy. Besides, they don't like you. So drop the charges and let me get back to the stock market."

He laughs and opens the file. "Drop the charges? This is such a sure thing, your client wouldn't take a bet on it."

He proceeds to take me through the file, showing me the confiscated betting slips, the ledgers, and the phone records. His office has already sent all of this to me as part of discovery, and I've gone through it, but I don't tell him that.

He finishes, a satisfied smirk on his face. "What's your position on this, Counselor?"

"If you drop the charges at the end of this sentence, I believe I can convince my client not to sue for false arrest."

"Come on, Andy. I'm busy here, you know? You want to deal or not?"

I shake my head. "Not. We intend to mount a vigorous defense."

He laughs; it's quite possible he's familiar with some of my previous vigorous defenses. "Consisting of what?" he asks.

"Character witnesses."

"Excuse me?"

"Character witnesses," I repeat. "They're witnesses as to my client's character, which, by the way, is extraordinary."

"I'm sure it is. And who might these witnesses be?"

"Oh, you know, the usual well-respected, above-reproach, pillars-of-society types. Those kind of people. Would you like me to give you an example?"

He shrugs, which I take to be a yes. I open the file and take out the phone records.

I point to the first page of numbers. "Now, if I remember your stirring presentation correctly, these phone numbers allegedly represent the people who called my client to place illegal wagers. Of course, you offered no proof of this, but--"

He interrupts. "And your contention is that these fifty-seven hundred calls in one month were for what purpose exactly?"

"I can't speak for all of them, but I would suppose that they were mostly friends calling to discuss current events, exchange recipes, that kind of thing."

He's losing patience. "Come on, Andy, can we move this along?"

"Okay. Let's pick a number, any number." I point to a place on the sheet. "How about this one?"

Holbrook looks where I'm pointing. "What about it?"

"Dial it. On the speakerphone."

He starts to argue, then shrugs and goes over to the phone, no doubt figuring that it'll get me out of his office that much sooner. As he goes back to his desk, we can both hear the phone ringing through the speaker.

The female voice comes through the phone. "Carmichael residence."

A look, of concern flashes across Holbrook's face as I walk toward the phone. "Is the mayor home?" I ask.

"Who may I say is calling?"

I smile benignly at Holbrook and continue. "Just tell him it's Deputy District Attorney John--"

Displaying catlike quickness that I had no idea he possessed, Holbrook leaps from his chair, moves deftly around his desk, lunges, and cuts off the call before I can finish identifying him. If he does as well on the parallel bars and horse as he's just done on the floor exercise, he's got a shot at the individual all-around.